Meeting In An Alleyway
by AnomalyDetected
Summary: Sherlock's dead, or so all the world thinks. But what happens when Connor Temple of the ARC ends up in the very same alleyway that Sherlock happens to be hiding in because he thinks a creature's gone the same way?


Sherlock looked over at the chair. The chair that John always sat at…this time, it wasn't a surprise; but John wasn't there this time. Sherlock had been noticing the man's absence more and more…maybe it was because he wasn't there. Sherlock was deep inside his mind palace and he refused to come out and face the change. He didn't know how to accept it and he didn't know how to live without John.

But John thought he was dead…he couldn't ruin that allusion now. John would kill him more successfully than Sherlock did himself. And he didn't exactly want that to happen.

"I need a case-no. No. I can't do cases now. I'm dead. I'm very, very dead. I jumped off a building, I'm not suppose to be alive. No one can know-no one can ever know…not now. Not yet." Sherlock shook his head. "I need a cigarette. No, no…cold turkey. Cold turkey. John said…I listen to John. John…"

Sherlock felt tired for the first time in his life, absolutely exhausted. He felt as if he couldn't even deduce anyone anymore. He was a failure.

"Something…I need something," His fingers tapped on the ground beneath him. Was he shaking? Did he feel fear? What was wrong with him? What was happening? "Violin…violin…I want to play my violin. No, no…too much attention. I'm dead, I'm dead…"

Sherlock was bored, he was exhausted and bored and he couldn't do anything about it. No cases. No violin playing. No John. No one. He was alone…alone is what protected him all those years and it can protect him again. He just needed…he needed a little time to get used to it again. He was sure…no. No he wasn't. He was unsure. Which was scaring him more. Which was confusing him. Which was just creating a complete mess in his head. He was going mental…or was he already there?

"Bored. Bored. Bored…" He paced around the alleyway he was in, feeling terrible and restless and too exhausted to go to sleep.

Then he heard footsteps and his heart started racing and he flipped around swiftly. He didn't feel like running. Not this time. He saw a man with black hair, brown eyes. He wore a ring around his neck and a trilby on his head. Fingerless gloves covered his hands and Sherlock could see the noticeable worry written on his face. Ugh…he had people worrying about him. Nearly sickening.

"Hello?" The man's voice popped his collar and only looked at him through his peripheral vision.  
"Hello," He mumbled.  
"Sher-Sherlock Holmes?" The man asked, confused. Oh, he'd heard about Sherlock Holmes. Only the greatest and only consulting detective in all of the UK and the man killed himself by jumping off a hospital building only a year before.  
"N-no." He shook his head, lying.  
"I'm pretty sure you're Sherlock Holmes…"  
"Sherlock? Didn't that bloke kill himself?"  
"Ye-yeah." He nodded. "Which is why I'm wondering why he's standing right in front of me. I'm not an idiot you know,"  
"Everyone's an idiot compared to me!" Sherlock snapped, growling.  
"…How'd you do it? How'd you fake your death and why?"  
"None of your business. It's not of importance." Sherlock gripped onto his coat and stared the man down. A stubble resting upon his chin, scarcely shaved as if he was in the middle of shaving it when he ran. Small bags under his eyes, not enough sleep or good sleep for that matter. His hair was ruffled and a mess, almost as if he didn't have time to brush it. Or he did it very quickly. Along his arm there was a series of scratches. Fresh. Blood was still in his untrimmed finger nails. This man was clearly interesting. Was he a murderer? No-no. His eyes were too innocent, he was too weak to actually kill anybody. Besides, there was no more evidence pointing to murder. Rather, he inflicted pain on himself and he rushed to get himself cleaned up before other people saw what he had done.

Sherlock smirked as he realized he was deducing again. There was something to interest him…maybe the man was useful for something. A cure for boredom at least.

"Alright then," The stranger held out his hand and smiled. Two of his teeth overlapped the rest, they were stained yellow. Obviously there wasn't time to brush them this morning, his breath smelled of tea. Good tea, but the man didn't make it himself. That was obvious. When he was walking over in the alley way, he was a bit off balance and nearly tripped over a box in the center of it. He was much too clumsy and likely would've spilled the tea on his shirt and if he was in a rush, he wouldn't have had time to change.  
"I'm Connor Temple."He stared at the man's hand for a moment before taking it in his own.  
"Sherlock…but you already knew that."

Connor looked over him. He looked deathly unhealthy...which wasn't surprising, especially if he was living in the alleyway. "What are you doing here?"  
"What are you?"  
"I uh-I thought I saw something." He shrugged. He couldn't honestly tell Sherlock Holmes about the Anomalies. It was a secret government operation and Lester would murder him for telling.  
"You're lying."  
"How do you know?" He looked at him, curiously.  
"Because I've already deduced you," Sherlock sighed. "twice. And honestly Mr. Temple, you're a rubbish liar."  
"And what'd you gather then?" He wondered. "Other than me being a bad liar, of course."  
"You woke up late, your significant other made you tea that you thoroughly enjoyed, you downed it very quickly and didn't have time to brush your teeth, you ran the brush through your hair at the maximum of two times, before you were finished shaving you were rushed out of the house for something and you most obviously inflicted pain on yourself because you have scratches littering your arm and the blood staining your finger tips and nails. Obviously you are in this alleyway to hide, much like me. Am I right?"

Amused with this deduction, Connor grinned. "You're wrong about the last part."  
"Wrong? I wasn't wrong. I'm never wrong!"  
"I don't inflict pain on myself."  
"The scratches," Sherlock grabbed his arm forcefully and studied them. "They're fresh…but dirt. There's dirt. How could I have missed the dirt? You fell…but those aren't made by a knife or nail or-anything manmade. They weren't made by rocks or any sharp things found on the ground. Those are creature made…so…a dog, these are too big for a dog. Too big for a cat…there were no zoo escapes…you-you fell and some type of creature scratched you. But what creature, I cannot tell."  
"Yeah, now you've got it right."  
"What creature was this though?"  
"I uh…I don't think I can tell you."

Sherlock threw his arm down and turned around. He wanted to know and he wanted to know now. He crossed his arms and refused to talk. It worked with John…

"What're you doing?"

But the man wouldn't respond. Connor repeated the question, even said several other ones but the man was practically tuning him out. Sherlock was an expert at doing that.

"Fine. Fine-but if I tell you, you can't tell anyone else, got it?"  
"I'm dead, don't have any friends, and in hiding. Who do you think I'm going to tell?" He rolled his eyes, honestly the world seemed so moronic compared to him.  
"It was a dinosaur. I was attacked by a dinosaur, a real life dinosaur." He was waiting for the man to freak out either by excitement or fear, but he didn't. Not anything of the sort.  
"Dinosaur?" Sherlock questioned. "What's a-those big, weird creatures that went around the Earth millions of years ago?" He mocked what he thought one acted like, and Connor laughed.  
"You didn't learn about dinosaurs?"  
"Why fill your head with such pointless rubbish? Ordinary human beings fill their heads with nonsense…it creates more problems than it solves."  
"But dinosaurs…they're important in evolution?"  
"Who cares about evolution when there's murders and a million more important things? It's just as important as the solar system," The only reason he knew even the slightest bit about dinosaurs is because he remembered John babbling on about them, trying to teach Sherlock everything he didn't know that was apparently learned in primary school.  
Connor scrunched his eyebrows together. "You don't know about the solar system?"  
"Nine planets, revolves around Jupiter…"  
"Eight planets, Pluto's not counted anymore, and we revolve around the sun! The sun, Sherlock!"  
"Will you shut up? People don't need to know I'm alive all the way in Australia!" "Sorry…"  
"Whatever. Just-whatever with your dinosaurs and solar systems."

"Hey…how'd you know I have a significant other?"  
"Only a partner would tell you that shirt looks good with those trousers because they have to lie."  
"Hey!" Connor exclaimed. "These are my favorite skinny jeans."  
"They're hideous."

Connor wasn't yet used to Sherlock's brutal honesty and Sherlock wasn't used to having to cover up. What was the point? There was no sugar coating the truth…he never did that, he never saw the point. Everyone deserved the truth, yeah?

John.

John deserved to know the truth and instead, Sherlock hid in alleyways from the rest of the world.

**This is one of my few stories featuring Sherlock. Hopefully I've got him down, if not don't fret, I'm bound to improve and any criticism on him will be greatly appreciated! As well as advice to write him better. :)**


End file.
